To Have and to Hold
by Verdandil
Summary: Blaine loves holding Kurt's hand. It really is that simple. ll Spoilers: Vague references to 3.05.


**Author's Note**: First fanfiction published here; I'm putting my toes in the sandbox. Written a while ago and posted in celebration of an upcoming episode. Unbeta'ed. Includes: some comma abuse, a certain simplicity, a clumsy attempt at writing dialogue, and the shameless, unrestrained idealistic musings of a romantic fool. English is not my first language, but I do hope you will find some satisfaction in this. Thank you for reading, and reviews are well appreciated.  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Vague references to 3.05  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Implied sexual activity  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.

* * *

><p><strong>To Have and to Hold<strong>

Blaine loves holding Kurt's hand. It really is that simple.

––

The stranger standing on the staircase is without a doubt attractive. _Very _attractive. Blaine only has a second to take in the carefully coiffed chestnut hair, the lightness of his eyes, the lithe body clad in a smart attempt of a disguise - before he remembers to introduce himself, casually offering out his hand as a well-mannered gentleman would. The boy's hand is surprisingly soft.

He leads the stranger – Kurt - down the polished halls of Dalton. He doesn't really know what he is doing, only hears the light buzz in his ears and feels the thrill crawling up his spine when Kurt responds, long fingers reluctantly curling over his, as the thumping of his heart resounds in synchrony with the fading sound of their footsteps.

He will later wonder what took over him, because although Blaine admits to being impulsive, frolicking in the hallways with what obviously was a spy, as David and Wes put it, unlike throwing not-so-impromptu impromptu performances, and jumping on furniture, was not in his daily habits.

Later, he recalls, through the misty layers of a daydream, the seemingly fragile silhouette, the glassy gaze and the ghostly sensation of warmth in his palm.

––

Kurt's existence pulls him in like a magnetic force; he gravitates around the boy as if it were a habit inscribed in the very core of his being, revels in his presence, and seeks his approval. Yet, Blaine remains unaware of it all, makes mistakes, embarrasses himself, argues with Kurt, is relieved when, in spite of everything, the boy remains by his side.

And then, one day, Blaine finds himself sitting next to Kurt, articulating words he has repeated at least two dozen times in the privacy of his room. He knows his hand is trembling when he places it over Kurt's, and suddenly he feels overwhelmed, dizzy, as he truly grasps the weight of his confession and how real it is – how real Kurt is. Blaine's universe is reduced to the tumultuous drumming in his chest, the look of wonder in Kurt's eyes, the warmth under his palm – and then, soft lips against his own.

That day, he feels blooming inside the confines of his heart, something infinitely gentle and precious.

––

They can't hold hands like other couples do.

At least, not leisurely while taking a walk in the park or shopping at the mall, nor as they make their way down the corridor of McKinley; they can't hold hands in the public eye, where judgemental glares and impending insults reside in every corner, waiting to be thrown at them because of the cowardly pleasure some find in trampling on others' happiness and regardless of the obvious sense of gratification they share in each other's company or the genuineness of the feelings they hold for one another. Naturally, they could decide to do it in the face of all odds, but after all they've been through, separately and together, neither of them wishes to risk the possibility of being subjected to unpleasant circumstances. They are careful not because the outside world scares them, but because they know they deserve better. They have nothing to prove to others, for what they have is theirs and theirs alone.

And so they find their own silent language – the brushing of a shoulder against another as they sit close, the light knocking of feet under the table, the caress of calloused fingertips against pale knuckles (but never for very long). Between a coy glance and an accomplice smile, they talk. Mostly, they talk about banalities – the latest issue of Vogue ("Rate the Kate Middleton cover out of 10. Ready? 1, 2, 3…"), _The Bachelorette _("What a horrible way to break-up."), their respective Glee clubs ("Blaine, in all honesty, I doubt the nursery is capable of fully appreciating the Warblers' propensity for furniture abuse.").

On occasion, Kurt would absentmindedly worry his lower lip, fidget a little, and then glance over his coffee cup, a bundle of nervous energy caught in his throat. Blaine would know then that his boyfriend has a request of some sort. And if, on occasion, there is the faintest hint of obvious but perhaps unconscious manipulation on Kurt's part, Blaine disregards it. He understands that Kurt's reluctance arises from his fear of rejection – any sign of it makes the boy recoil, retreat behind a shield of biting sarcasm and dry remarks -, understands that he has been hurt too many times not to have lost trust somewhere along the way. Kurt keeps pushing, when he dares, as if seeking the confirmation that yes, he can ask things from Blaine, that there is nothing wrong with that.

Blaine wants to give Kurt everything, but he doesn't indulge his boyfriend simply for the sake of it. He doesn't lie when he says he is doing it for himself. His choices aren't completely unreasonable, nor are they noble. The truth is he wants to be near Kurt just as much as the latter wants him by his side – if not more. Kurt might not realize it, but being around him, being _with _him, makes Blaine a better person, because Kurt, with his inner strength and the force of his presence alone, can make his world tip – and when Blaine's world tips, he loses balance and, in a continuum of confusion, bewilderment and unexpected realizations, a small part of his person breaks, reconstructs itself, before he finds himself once again, better, stronger, closer to what he feels he is meant to be. And that, in extension to the love he so obviously holds for Blaine, is the greatest gift Kurt can give him. So when Kurt advances the idea of Prom, and then of the transfer, Blaine laces their fingers together and knows that in the depths of his mind his decision is already made.

––

They are lying on Kurt's bed one afternoon in late autumn. Kurt is reading _Madame Bovary _while Blaine goes through the last lines of his English assignment. They find comfort in the silence they share, every now and then the rustling of bed sheets indicating a light shift. From time to time, Blaine would glance up at his boyfriend, admire the planes of his face, the sharp bridge of his nose, the slight crease of his forehead as he tries to grasp the meaning of an ambiguous passage. And every so often, if his timing was right, he would catch Kurt gazing at him under his eyelashes. Breath held in, a light blush colouring his cheeks, Kurt would then avert his eyes and roll them as Blaine's lips contorted into a most cheeky grin.

At some point, Blaine decides that he has had enough and places his papers on the floor. He scoots closer to Kurt, rather ungracefully, pecks him on the cheek before placing his head onto his right shoulder. Kurt seems unaffected by the sudden movement, but the subtle quirk at the edge of his lips tells Blaine otherwise.

He puts his hand over Kurt's, fingers winding together, despite the side-glare that is swiftly thrown at him.

It is moments like these, where he basks in a complete sense of comfort, that Blaine treasures the most, moments that tell him that loving Kurt is not just _nice_, but that it feels good, that it feels right. He doesn't need to think about anything else, not about the approaching midterms nor his parents' reluctance in accepting his preference for boys; he doesn't need to think about any of these things but _them_.

He holds their joint hands up and presses a feather-light kiss against Kurt's soft skin, the shy whisper of a promise unfolding into his palm.

Blaine loves holding Kurt's hand. It really is that simple, he thinks, yet at the same time it isn't. He finds delight in the way their hands fit, enjoys tracing along every crease and bump of it in his spare time, but the significance of the act, hand-holding, surpasses the mere physicality of it. No, it's not just about how nice the contact feels; it's about so much more. Holding hands with Kurt, with the person he loves, is much like keeping his feet on the ground. It gives him a sense of connection; it is a concrete proof, an affirmation. It tells him _this is where I belong._

There are times like these where Blaine realizes how deeply his feelings for Kurt run. Loving Kurt is wonderful, yet overwhelming by moments, their relationship heavy with implications that he is not yet ready to understand. He wonders if the enormity of it all could one day consume him, if Kurt also finds himself drowning in the frightening intensity of it all. But Blaine is young, and so naïve, and this is beyond him; yet, through the lens of his romantic ideals and concealed fears about the future, he can see clearly. He hasn't experienced any other love like this, but he knows.

He simply knows.

––

"What does the future hold for me, oh great palm reader?"

Blaine turns his head to find Kurt gazing down at him, still blinking away the sleep from his eyes. He clears his throat, replies:

"Well, Mister Hummel, if you must know, in a matter of months, you will leave your cage, spread your wings, fly towards brighter horizons-"

"And then I'll drop from the sky and sing out my last note before dying from a stroke," Kurt finishes. "Can we not with the bird metaphors? It's vaguely depressing."

Blaine huffs mockingly and rolls his eyes. "What a demanding customer."

As he speaks, Blaine trails his forefinger down the middle of Kurt's palm. He does not miss the way his boyfriend's breathe catches - ever so slightly. "Alright, then. According to your fate line, you will accomplish many great things. You might meet a few bumps along the way, but you shall weave your way through it all. In the great city of New York, you will realize your dreams and discover new ones."

The smile Kurt gives him at that moment makes his heart swell. There is a warmth in his crystal-clear eyes that never fails to put Blaine in awe, and he cannot help but feel privileged knowing that it is because of him, that it is because Kurt knows that Blaine earnestly believes in him.

"That sounds nice, but I'm not really learning anything new here," Kurt says in a well-practiced haughty tone, while feigning disdain and inspecting his nails. "I am seriously starting to question your abilities, sir."

"Um, maybe I should've started with the heart line instead."

"I'm listening."

"Well, you'll be happy to know that you will be married by 30. Legally, of course."

"Still nothing new. Tell me about this future husband of mine."

There is a pause. Blaine swallows; his mouth feels oddly dry. He wants to throw one of those overused lines at Kurt – like _You already know him very well._ His mind murmurs _It could be me if you'll have me_, in the faintest voice, because Blaine doesn't dare fully embrace the idea of it yet, even if he has spent minutes after minutes in his bed, unwilling to go to sleep, thinking about-

"That… remains a secret," he settles for instead.

Kurt raises an eyebrow in response.

"Well, sudden revelations and a good dose of drama are essential ingredients to all great romances," Blaine adds unconvincingly.

"Oh, I guess that explains what the New Directions have been up to these last three year – getting together, breaking up, cheating, lying, hooking up, trying out every possible dating combination, getting back together, breaking up again, and it goes on and on," Kurt drawls. "See how far that got them."

"You know you love them and their craziness anyway."

"Touché. Wait, are you implying that there's not enough drama in our relationship? Because, if you want, I can storm out of the room _à la Rachel Berry _this instant."

"No, of course not. Besides, I think we've had our fair share this year, although I assure you that there was nothing between _S_-"

"Mister Palm Reader," Kurt interrupts, "since we were talking about my future husband, would you be so kind as to _ensure_ that no male with brown hair and a name starting with an _S_ will come in his proximity; elsewise, I guarantee that that person will wake up _completely bald _one morning."

"I don't think that Mr. Schue could rock that look, Kurt," Blaine can't help but respond.

"_First name_, Blaine. And you do realize that mentioning Mr. Schue _while we're in your bed in a state of undress _is the biggest turn-off there can be, right?"

The boy chuckles and kisses Kurt's shoulder for good measure. They stay like that, sheets tangled around their bodies, as silence stretches between them.

"It'd be nice, living in the Upper East," Kurt finally says, tone wistful.

Blaine knows that he is picturing it then, wonders what he sees, whom he is with.

"You'll get there," he answers.

"Is that what my palm tells you?"

"Mm, just right here," Blaine pretends, moving his thumb over a random line. "You'll start in the Lower East with a small apartment at first."

"And then?"

"And then you'll make your way up and move into a larger one-"

"Which will have a spacious bathroom."

"Of course, and a study or a small studio perhaps?"

"Yes, and a large closet in the master bedroom."

"A guest room, if possible."

"A balcony offering a nice view."

"A cat or a dog."

A pause.

"You want a pet?" Kurt asks.

"Don't you?" Blaine reiterates.

"Well, no, I mean, they're adorable from afar, but their fur goes everywhere, Blaine, and that will include my _clothes_."

"Oh, well, maybe we could get a goldfish or a bird instead."

Kurt doesn't reply, blinks a little.

"We could name it Pavarotti Junior," Blaine adds with a sheepish grin, "or if it's a fish-"

And then, he stops in his tracks as it hits him.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Now he understands the indefinable expression gracing Kurt's face.

Since when had '_we' _slipped into this conversation?

Of course, Blaine thinks in _'we'_ all the time – when _we _will go to New York, when _we_ will live together, when _we_- but he wasn't ready to voice it out. They remind each other that they love one another constantly, not that it is required, but it comes so naturally to them – _I _love that about _you_, _I _love spending time with _you_, _I _love _you_ (so, so much). But it is one thing to say _I want to be with you in the future_, and _I want to spend the rest of my life with you_.

Blaine would be embarrassed to admit the number of time he has thought _I am going to marry this boy someday_. He holds onto that thought like a porcelain bowl filled with water, so afraid to drop it or spill its contents, because it is too soon to be so convinced about such matters, and yet, yet he is. He knows that the statistics concerning long-distance relationships are less than encouraging, and that most high school couples do not last. He also knows that, regardless of what kind of trials they will have to face, he will remain by Kurt's side for as long as the boy will have him. That certainty is his most cherished secret.

He is aware that the both of them are the marrying type, that Kurt has been planning weddings since he was two, and they have joked about it, mentioned it in a most allusive manner a handful of times. But this is different.

"You know," Kurt starts, "I think that you're wrong."

Blaine stares, startled out of his thoughts, uncomprehending and apprehensive.

"I'm pretty sure I'll be married by 25. Let my future husband know that I refuse to wait for any longer than that."

Kurt smiles with tenderness then; his eyes convey _I know._

And as Blaine meets Kurt's cerulean gaze, he realizes that perhaps it is not such an oddity to put so much faith in this, in them – that he is young, but not immature; that he is inexperienced, but not irrational; that what seems unlikely to others is no less real to them.

That afternoon, enwrapped in each other's presence, they share a silent vow.

––

Five years from now will find Blaine strolling down the hectic streets of New York with Kurt. As he intertwines their fingers, he will feel the distinctive cold metal band clash against the fading warmth of his skin. Amidst the crowd and between two street lights, Blaine will lean towards his love and whisper in his ear: _we made it; I always knew we would_.

_––_

_Fin._


End file.
